The Demon Who Lived
by MistyNocturne
Summary: The Demon has awakened. The board is set. But will he play? How will the Wizarding World fare now with a highly-intellectual and cunning former Demon Emperor as their Boy-Who-Lived? Lelouch reincarnates as Harry fic. Set in OotP and beyond.
1. Chapter 0

**Disclaimer: (For entire story) I do not, in any way, own Code Geass nor Harry Potter.**

 **A/N: Just posting for fun. Doubt this'll be get much response. Don't like, don't read! No flames please!**

Prologue

"Remember who you were... who you _are_..." A lovely green-haired witch whispered tenderly, her eyes glittering a mystical gold. "Who you _truly_ are."

The mysterious woman brought an ivory hand to his cheek, caressing it with great care - as if he was to turn to ash and fly away in the wind any moment now. Wasting no time, she closed in, to brush her lips against his in a feather-light kiss.

And like a broken dam, everything came flooding back in an overwhelming, fluid quality. Memories gushed endlessly, engulfing every last bit of perplexity within him. They sucked him into a void world, where there was only himself, and a large replica of Jupiter - where black and red feathers rained down in their millions.

He saw pools of scarlet painting a majestic flight of stairs. He saw a girl, whose eyes were sewn shut by tragedy and conspiracy, whose dreams of peace and happiness ignited a flame which drove a young boy on and on. He saw hatred and vengeance. He saw the death of a prince. He saw the birth of a masked revolutionary. He saw a group of people, drunk with laughter, as dazzling lights set off into the sky, bearing heartedly grins as they went around in circles chasing him. He saw jewel green eyes, sapphire eyes, olive green eyes - all of them lit by warmth of friendship, lackluster from bereavement, hardened by revelations and betrayal. He saw the evils committed by a willing martyr.

He saw ruby bird-like sigils glowing ominously back at him, as he locked gazes with himself in a mirror.

He saw the fall of the Demon Emperor.

 _A sword. A mask._

 _It was the blood on his chest. It was the hush in the air._

 _It was the promise of hope._

 _It was life, it was sun. It was night, it was death._

 _All at once, the weight of his load vanished, as eternal night fell upon_ Lelouch vi Britannia.

The woman - _the immortal_ _witch_ \- drew back slowly, and pierced him with a gaze of a thousand blades. It was merely a quiver of her lips. Close to inaudible. But he heard it. Heard those three magical words that changed Harry James Potter's life forever.

"Wake up, Lelouch."


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ **Soundtracks for this fic: Masser (Skyrim OST), Cheese (Code Geass OST), Moonlit Night (Death Parade OST)**

 **Chapter 1**

Apparently, he can't die.

Not that he possesses a Code or immortality of the sort. It's more towards the will of the Collective Unconsciousness, he's sure. But one _would_ think someone drinking tea whilst reading the paper _after_ being kissed by a Dementor… _very much_ immortal.

Of course, unless said person lacks a soul, and of that much he's _also_ quite sure he's retained. Although, it is unheard of for someone to survive a Dementor's Kiss with their spirit intact.

But then again, it is unheard of for someone to survive a _bloody_ _killing curse_ intact.

Both of which he has managed quite easily so far.

Unless, C.C. _herself_ is a bloody soul-sucking monster.

It would make a whole lot of sense, considering _she_ was the immortal amongst the both of them. There had been a time when he thought it to be true. What, with her constant exploitation of his wealth to buy pizza slowly draining his soul _long_ before Zero Requiem…

Oh god. The bloody _bills._

He shudders.

Perhaps it's a blessing for him to _not_ own a credit card in this world. And for his family inheritance to be so out-of-bounds until he's of age. Or else, he'd be forced into early destitute for the massive purchase of Italian cuisine, if she's to appear here anytime soon.

Gazing out the window, he takes another sip of the fragrant earl grey before setting the cup down. The moon is bright tonight, its soft silvery rays accompanying him on his midnight vigil. A stark contrast from earlier today, which was a ghastly gray sky with no light left in the wake of the Dementors' presence. The absence of birdsong has made way for the peaceful chirping of late-summer crickets.

He's left the lights off, simply to enjoy this natural form of solace.

Vernon and Petunia are outstation for the time being, some emergency having cropped up. Dudley, on the other hand, is upstairs in his room, sleeping like a babe. Harry holds no true love for his boarish cousin, but after today's ordeal, differences have been set aside for their mutual sanity. So he'd offered the boy some chocolate earlier, of which the young Dursley gratefully devoured in his ever-piggish nature, before conking out.

He glances down at the amber liquid once more, ivory steam wafting from the modest ceramic. Chocolate is potent, yes, but a cup of hot tea warms his soul in a way even cocoa can't.

Go ahead and accuse him of being a British through and through.

A _Britannian,_ he smirks in good humour.

But perhaps it's just the fact it reminds him of when all was still right. Having evening tea with Nunnally, laughing earnestly with her over the smallest things so inconsequential to the world. Holding a teacup to her dainty lips and wiping any spillage from her chin. When she spoke animatedly to him about the new things she'd learnt in school and from Sayoko; chattering about happy and innocent dreams so saccharine, teaching him how to _feel_ the beauty of nature, instead of merely seeing. It had been a dutiful routine never once skipped since the days in the lush gardens of Aries Villa.

One that stopped the moment he became Zero.

God knows what would've happened had she not been there to do all of that with him.

She had been the sole figure keeping that _tiny_ light of virtue in him from being snuffed out.

His heart would have surely festered. He cannot deny that. Although it's never once scared him just how much capacity he has for evil, he is entirely grateful to Nunnally for being his only semblance of warmth in the wintry blizzards of vengeance.

He tips the cup at a certain angle, allowing the tea to mirror a faint glimmer of the full moon. He's also granted a shadowy image of himself.

Nothing much has changed in his features from the past life. He is very much Lelouch vi Britannia, reborn in full glory. Save for the perpetually wild bedhead.

And his eyes.

 _Suzaku's_ eyes.

He's not very certain about the logic of _that._ They are shaped like his own, but their _hue_ …

He can't stop seeing Suzaku.

Maybe it's been fated. That he be given this opportunity to emulate his best friend's qualities, albeit unknowingly. The young Kururugi wasn't without his flaws, of course. The both of them had been in this vicious contest to see who was the bigger hypocrite in the end. But Suzaku had always been more _knightly_ than him. More honest about his feelings. More impulsive to take action. More blinded. More _brave_ (and _stupid_ ), to the point of wanting to throw his life away in an act of 'untainted' heroism.

More eager to _save everyone._

He, who thrived working in the _light_ , whereas Lelouch had been one to thrive in the shadows.

He snorts, a wry smile pulling at his lips.

Harry James Potter is the very _definition_ of Kururugi Suzaku in that respect.

 _No more._

"Suzaku would've made a great Gryffindor," he murmurs, fondly to his teacup. "Trust him to display reckless idiocy and call it bravery."

He leans back into his chair and throws his head back, chuckling bitterly at the irony of it all.

"Oh, who am _I_ talk?"

Now reunited with his memories, for the _second_ time in his experience, he's been overwhelmed by this profound sense of _solitude._

He's lost everyone he's once known in _that_ life.

 _Oh, but it's all of your_ own _doing, after all. You_ planned _for it to be this way,_ mocks his subconscious, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like C.C..

Indeed. He's doomed himself to everything he's facing now. Well, except for the fact that a random madman currently wants him dead.

 **~※~**

 _A few hours prior..._

He's drowning in a sea of ice.

Shrill laughter floods his ears alongside dreadful _screams._

 _He can hear his mother's screams and a storm of bullets and shattering glass and blood… so much blood…_

Harry scrunches up his forehead. But that wasn't how his mother died… right? It was supposedly a clean death, like she was struck by viridian lightning. _So why..._

 _Violet eyes stare up at him, dark and empty. His sister lays trembling like a broken doll in those limp arms._

Violet? But they were supposed to have been green… just like _his_ … and... _he has no sister._

The high-pitched laughter grows louder and louder, a harsh cacophony of two very broken souls, one of them sounding… very much like his _own_.

This scares him beyond rational thinking. He would never… he has no reason to laugh in such a twisted way. He isn't turning bad... is he?

Voices speak inside his head: ' _Bow to death, Harry… it might even be painless… I would not know… I have never died-_

' _I do not fear death. You must kill me, Suzaku.'_

It's so very familiar, and yet he can't seem to…

All he knows now is the burning want in his gut for _power._ Power to escape this place. Power to _win_ ; to conquer those who have wronged him.

Power to _know._

The Dementor's mouth closes over his own.

 **.~.**

" _You desire power?"_

Déjà vu much.

He expected to have his soul extracted from his body. But ironically...

" _Then you shall have it._ _ **Again.**_ _For our contract has been renewed."_

It's the Kiss that's brought him back.

"C.C…" he whispers, eyes dilating in recognition.

She smiles. Not that infuriating cat-like smirk he's grown used to in his past life - but something… more heartbreaking.

He swallows. Well, he tries to, but finds his throat too dry. "Where will I find you?"

She places two fingers on his heart, golden eyes never leaving emerald.

And as he's just about to touch her, to confirm that she isn't merely a figment of his imagination-

She crumbles into shimmering dust, flying away like starlight into the empyrean.

" _No. Wait-"_ he calls out, in dismay.

Before he's pulled into a burst of colours and interlocking gears.

 **.~.**

He jolts up from the cold, slick ground, gasping for breath.

He _remembers._

 _Everything._

 _...You will be condemned to drift aimlessly as a spirit in between the world of the living and the Great Hereafter-_

His glasses seem to have fallen away from him during the struggle, but he finds himself able to see perfectly well even without them.

- _for many believe you to be unworthy of entering Heaven after charading as a demon-_

He can't for the life of him figure out the logic in that, but…

 _-However, if this is a fate you will not accept, I offer you a simple proposition. One that will repay our debt-_

The Dementors twist their heads towards him.

 _-A fresh life. A_ _ **perfect**_ _Geass. A_ _ **new**_ _gift. A different universe. All for saving us from the Ragnarok Connection-_

He has more pressing things to worry about.

 _-But your memories shall be sealed until your fated day of awakening-_

Magic will not do. Not unless he wants to be summoned to court again. So a Patronus is definitely out of the question.

Dementors have no eyes, he realizes belatedly. But if what the Collective Unconsciousness promised is true…

- _Will you accept, Lelouch vi Britannia?_

As the deathly creatures surge towards him, he sweeps an arm aside.

He feels a nostalgic burn in both his eyes.

"Obey me."

A faint red glow encompasses their faces.

 **~※~**

His eyes slide over the tea to settle on the stack of Daily Prophets he's set aside on the table.

And he remembers something else.

He's extremely _pissed off_.

It vexes him, even _with_ his memories, that he's been pulled into this political play he's never wanted to be a part of.

The moment he'd left Dudley to his slumber, he took it upon himself to study every last article in all thirty-five issues in great detail from the past five weeks.

A delusional, attention-seeking, thrill-junkie?

Dismissing him as something irrelevant, when _they_ had been the ones to make him relevant in the first place?

Oh, he's used to vicious slander from the public. Quite creative and nuanced are the ways they choose to insert him into their opinion of the day.

A year in social exile does that to you, when you've been _yet again_ dragged into something you never meant to join, like the goddamned Triwizard Tournament.

That, and adding 'terrorist master' and 'demonic tyrant' to his resumé.

But that doesn't mean he enjoys it.

On the other hand, he's also extremely glad.

At least now he isn't walking into this ball court groping blindly. Quite literally too, with his new fully-healed vision - yet another gift from greater forces above.

He knows not to take things at face value anymore. Something he's ashamed that his former self would've happily done - the easy dismissal upon not finding himself within the first few pages of the previous Prophets.

And there's also the Ministry of Magic to consider.

The Dementors are no chance encounter.

 _Dolores Umbridge_ , the single name that he's been given by the soul-suckers themselves. _Undersecretary of Cornelius Fudge_ , they say.

So it would seem they want him out of the equation. Make it seem like the most unlikely accident in the world.

Because why _else_ would Dementors roam about anywhere besides Azkaban? _In Little Whinging,_ of all places.

And if Umbridge's sloppy attempt at disposing of him failed, he would at _least_ be blacklisted by the law for 'underaged use of magic in a _muggle-inhabited_ neighborhood'. Give him an unfair hearing. _Get him expelled._

Because a Patronus is _oh-so-dangerous_ for the muggles to see.

Dolores Umbridge, regardless of her working independently or under orders, had not counted on the 'nuisance Potter child' on having another weapon in his arsenal.

Namely, _geass_.

It _has_ crossed his mind that maybe, _Voldemort_ is behind this.

But he quickly dismisses it.

Voldemort wishes to murder him with his _own_ hands. To see as much of his blood as possible before the light fades from his eyes. Out in the open, in a grand performance for all the world to see.

To bask in the glory of being the one to do it.

Not have his soul sucked out quietly, without anyone knowing how Harry Potter came to die in the middle of a _muggle_ settlement.

In that regard, he's a _bit_ reminded of himself. Specifically for the love of theatrics.

No. Dolores Umbridge is doing this purely for Fudge. He's slightly curious if she's acting under his orders, or on her _own_ _loyalty_ to him.

He thinks back to Kallen, once so eager to please Zero. Thinking it would benefit him to have a _threat_ out of the way; going so far as to attempting an independent assassination on Suzaku, the _White Knight_ of Britannia, in a banquet-hall full of people with that pocket-knife of hers.

Before he intercepted her, of course.

He still admires her sense of duty and loyalty to him at the time. But it's these kind of irrational assumptions made by underlings in devotion to their masters that make them so… dangerous.

A quiet hoot interrupts his musings.

He looks up, at the chair directly across him to find an owl perched on it. The moonlight lends a mystical sheen to her snowy white feathers.

"Hedwig."

She stares at him eerily with those large, amber eyes of hers.

He stills for a moment, struck by a familiar feeling of… he's not sure. He _can't_ be sure.

" _Lelouch. Do you know why snow is white?"_

A small bubble of hope sparks in his chest.

Smiling benignly, he leans forward and tosses an open packet of sunflower seeds onto the table at her feet.

"You must be hungry."

She glances down at the bag of seeds and immediately looks away, huffing in indignance.

"You know, Hedwig. The _strangest thing_ happened to me this afternoon." He props up an elbow on the table, resting his chin on his fist, sharp gaze never leaving the bird in front of him. "I'm very ashamed to say that my first kiss in this life was stolen by a _hag_. Imagine that? Being snogged by a wrinkly, millennium-old crone who had the audacity of dyeing her hair _green_ , of all colours. I mean, what kind of being is born with _green hair?_ "

The owl's neck twists abruptly to face him.

His smile turns a bit more devious at the corners. "I _swear._ It was as if she had…" He waves his hands around his head, putting on an expression of mock disgust. "Had _vomit_ growing out of her scalp. Quite horrendous, really."

He glances at his digital wristwatch. _1.43am_.

"Well, I'm kind of hungry myself. But I doubt we can get anything delivered here at this hour." He stands, making his way to the refrigerator. "Guess I'll have to cook something up. Nothing _ever_ gets cooked in this house unless _I_ do it anyway," he adds, a tad bitterly.

Extracting frozen Pita bread, beef pepperoni, tomato-based sauce, mozzarella, cheddar, parmesan, mushrooms, capsicum and olives from the fridge, he sets them all on the counter-top.

Stealing a sideway glance at Hedwig, he grins knowingly.

"How about some pizza, hmm?"

 **.~.**

At the smell of baking cheese in the oven, she spreads her wings dauntingly and flies straight at him.

His hands will be sore for the rest of the night from all the vicious pecking.

 **.~.**

"I suppose _you've_ forgotten what colour you're supposed to be."

Pulling a pizza slice away from his mouth, a string of mozzarella hangs teasingly over the plate.

She decides that he must bleed.

Can owl beaks be any sharper?

 **.~.**

"Was that truly necessary? he mutters, darkly, while nursing his wounded hands.

She throws herself back into one of the chairs, finally with a pizza slice of her own.

"You survive on sunflower seeds alone for _fifteen whole years_ and tell me if you like being taunted at," she says, haughtily.

"Surely you've caught rats once in awhile…"

Her murderous glare is enough to shut him up.

 _Fifteen whole years._ That's as long as he's been alive in this world too.

He sweeps his gaze over her porcelain-like face, painted with that ever-languid expression of disinterest, her lithe, cat-like figure sprawled ungracefully on the chair, the lime-green cascade he's made fun of earlier.

It's hard to believe, that despite having lost everyone else, he's been granted the privilege of having her here with him. She's the _only_ piece he has left of that life, that world.

On a more solemn note, he speaks.

"It's good to have you back, Cera."

She pauses in her meal, her eyes glimmering with some hidden emotion.

"I never once left."

She puts her plate down and strides towards him before enveloping him in a hug. He wraps his own arms around her in turn.

God. She _is_ real.

"You… _you_ were the one to leave us all. Cornelia was horrified to have been so wrong about you. Suzaku stopped dreaming about killing his father, but every night since that day he's dreamt about stabbing _you_ over and over again. Kallen was so angry and heartbroken. And Nunnally…" she pulls back momentarily to meet his eyes. "You've _no_ idea what your death did to her."

Fear grips his heart like an icy fist.

"She didn't…" he chokes out, hoarsely. "She didn't kill herself, did she?"

C.C. is silent for a while. "No. She did not."

He slumps in relief.

"But the way she handled things was _not_ a pretty sight."

He tenses again. "What happened?"

"She decided that the world was not deserving of the peace you sacrificed yourself for. As far as she was concerned, they _took you away_ from her." She shakes her head helplessly. "It was all we could do from stopping her from becoming your female counterpart."

He goes cold. "Demon Empress?"

A grave nod.

He buries his face into her shoulder, breathing in her scent. She smells of pine and snow and winter come. "Oh god. What have I done?"

She gently brushes her fingers through his tousled hair, like a mother comforting her child.

"For what it's worth, we _did_ manage to stop her before she could do any _real_ damage. Suzaku, Kallen and myself whisked her away for a change of scenery, and talked some sense into her. After many death threats and arguments, she ruled fairly and repaired most of the devastation inflicted by yourself and Charles, if that's what you're worried about," she continues. "But all that benevolence was a mere mask hiding endless bitterness beneath it. Her hatred towards Suzaku and myself was a fierce one. She didn't even bother to hide it except for when we were in public.

"She had me exiled, you know. For being the one to drive you down that path. While she did hate Suzaku for being the one to kill you, she knew he needed to remain there as Zero."

He pulls away from her this time and plonks himself down on a chair; his legs can no longer support him.

"I knew her innocence had been shattered the moment I found her holding the Key of Damocles. But I didn't _think_ \- she's always struck me as this person who would do what's right for _everyone_ no matter the situation." He lets out a shaky breath. "Yet another miscalculation of mine. It's always _her._ Just like the time I hadn't foreseen her surviving the FLEIA explosion. And _she_ was my bloody _reason_ for doing everything I did."

C.C. sits down next to him. The pizza is left cold and abandoned on the dining table.

"She was going to grow up sooner or later, you know. People break under emotional pressure. You couldn't have protected her from _everything._ "

He sneers at that. "Well, I could've protected her from _myself._ I never deserved to be her brother." He narrows his eyes at her. "And might I ask, what are _you_ doing _here?_ "

She casts her golden eyes downwards. "I made another wish. I _prayed._ I prayed to be reunited with you no matter where you were because life over there was no longer the same without you. So the Collective Unconsciousness heard my plea, and granted me a pathway to this world, tying me to you and this godforsaken owl form."

He frowns at that. "Just like that? Forgive me, but that's a rather _tall_ tale to swallow. But considering my _own_ experience with supernatural bizarreness, I won't press any further."

She rolls her eyes, but smiles anyway. "To think, I've waited fifteen entire years as a bird to be reunited with this drama queen."

Completely used to her insults, he merely rolls his eyes as well.

"Witch."

She laces her fingers with his, and gives a long-suffering sigh.

"It's good to have _you_ back too, Lelouch."

 **.~.**

"What will you do now?"

She's referring to his long-term plan in this world.

He shrugs, because honestly, he really doesn't know.

"Nunnally doesn't exist in this universe, so technically, I don't exactly have a purpose here."

They've moved up to his abysmal bedroom now, and having been an owl or no, it seems nothing's changed from C.C's love of hogging his mattress all to herself.

So he's sitting at his desk for the moment, doing his holiday homework. How nostalgic.

"Perhaps it's time for you to start living for _yourself_ ," she murmurs, twirling a few strands of her hair.

"Perhaps, if you could be _considerate_ enough, I can start by getting some sleep if you'd _just move over._ "

The witch has the audacity to raise her eyebrows and pout. "And here I thought you knew me so well. Gentlemen sleep-"

"-on the floor, yes."

"Well, then." She pulls the blanket over herself with some finality.

"Yes, because sleeping on the floor is _so much_ better than sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs," he deadpans.

"Hey, at least you get to lie horizontally and stretch your legs. Do you have _any_ idea how exhausting sleeping while standing is?"

"It's in the _nature_ of birds..."

"You don't want to have this argument with me."

"No, I _don't._ Thank you very much." He looks up at her from his Transfiguration essay. "Speaking of which, aren't _owls_ supposed to be _nocturnal_? Why don't you rest _after_ sunrise? After all, _I'm_ the one that's just been kissed by a bloody _Dementor._ "

"I believe your exact words were ' _wrinkly, millennium-old crone'_."

"Oh, screw it."

Her signature cheshire grin returns with a vengeance. "So you _admit_ that I'm the most beautiful woman you've set your eyes on?"

He dips his quill into an inkpot. "Your words, not mine."

"Oho~"

"Shut. Up."

"Oh, Lulu dearest… you miserable sod." She curls up and looks around discontented as though she's missing something.

"Lulu."

" _What?_ " he groans.

"Don't you have a Cheese-kun in this world?"

He bangs his head against the surface of his wooden desk. "In case you haven't noticed, number one, we're in _England._ Cheese-kun plushies are exclusive to Japan. Unless you want me to fly all the way there to get it… Number two, I'm not exactly the most well-off person in this world. Number three, _I'm not the pizza fanatic here._ "

"Pity."

She turns over onto her side so that she's facing him. Her face grows more serious. "Long-term plan aside, we both know the significance of Dementors coming after your skin. Do you intend to do anything about _that_?"

He sets his quill down and swivels his chair around.

"They're currently at my beck and call," he says, apathetically. "Apparently, their exact orders were to ' _silence my inane ramblings'._ It seems my status has been downgraded from Boy-Who-Lived to Boy-Who- _Lied._ " He smiles bitterly. "The boy _who cried wolf._ A wolf that's real, oh so very real, but they're too ensnared in their personal insecurities to pay heed."

"Such a pity that the people themselves are just as thick and ungrateful," she chimes in, whilst inspecting her nails. "They expect _you_ to bend to their every whim."

"Indeed. So if their flock of gullible sheep winds up dead, the fault would lie entirely with them."

It's at times like these when he misses worthy adversaries like Schneizel and Charles zi Britannia. They had acknowledged _actual_ threats for what they were. They had been _sharp_ and intellectual. Every counter-action from them had been an interesting chess move in the grand scheme of swaying the _world._

"Cornelius Fudge is a sniveling child struggling to maintain power in only a _small community_ of a _single_ country." Blinded by his own delusions, the man has allowed his own stupidity to be fed on by rats like Lucius Malfoy. _Servants_ of Lord Voldemort, let alone the man himself.

Easily expendable.

"Voldemort, on the other hand, is only _slightly_ more ambitious; wanting to purge the lands of those without magic or descendants of such people. But then again, his influence has only spread as far as Northern Europe. Paltry at best."

These people are terribly short-sighted in wanting to make a _global_ impact.

And _he's_ somehow gotten caught in between this laughable strife at the tender age of _one_.

"The Boy-Who-Lived is nothing more than a political tool for them to promote the triumph of Light over Dark. An illusionary bastion against the Dark led by Lord Voldemort. A valiant _knight_?"

No. They've cast him aside without a moment's thought when it's suited their needs to remain in power.

"A _pawn._ That's _all_ they see me as."

C.C. has gone deathly silent, auric eyes studying him cautiously.

He knows. When he begins speaking in chess terms, it can only mean one thing.

He's seriously considering joining the game.

"The system is rotten," he spits, venomously. "Almost as rotten as Britannia's once been."

He swivels back to his schoolwork, ending his vocal presentation.

"And I'm going to do _nothing._ "

She arches a brow, looking terribly amused. "Nothing? How anticlimactic. You are _such_ a drama queen." She sits up suddenly and rummages through the sheets. "I almost forgot. I paid a visit to the Weasleys and co. earlier this evening to see what was going on over their side, and they asked me to send this to you," she passes him a sealed scroll.

He takes it from her, and shoots her a withering glare. "And it never occurred to you to give me this _earlier_?"

"You'll have to forgive me for being distracted by your perpetual childishness. One's brain also tends to malfunction on an empty stomach."

He shakes his head in exasperation, before breaking the seal and unfurling the letter.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _We're_ extremely _sorry we couldn't write to you earlier. We've heard about what's happened with the Dementors - Dumbledore's settling things - and we desperately pray to Merlin that you're safe._

 _Whatever you do,_ don't listen to what the Daily Prophet has to say about you. _They're_ wrong. _And_ don't leave the walls of 4 Privet Drive. _The adults are going to fetch you to the Headquarters where we're all staying by latest tonight. So it would be best if you start packing your stuff._

 _We know you're burning with questions, Harry. But_ please _. Don't do anything reckless._

 _Love,_

 _Ron and Hermione._

He meets gazes with C.C. "Headquarters?"

 _Where we're_ all _staying._

He feels a tiny pang of betrayal. He realises it's petty. But still. He's been stuck in this horrible household for an entire month with no contact from anyone, when Ron, Hermione and the rest of his wizarding family were able to see each other everyday.

"12 Grimmauld Place, London. Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Otherwise, known as the home of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black." She adjusts her the pillows behind her so that she can lean against the wall. "Safeguarded by a Fidelius Charm, of which I've yet to determine the secret keeper."

He tilts his head sideways in perplexity. "A Fidelius Charm? Then how in blazes did you manage to find the location? I've only asked you to take my letters to The Burrow. How do you even know all of this?"

She smiles smugly. "I'll have you know that I've worked as acting leader of the Black Knights when you were off playing mindless puppet to Charles in the E.U. up to the point you regained your memories. I _do_ know how to scour for information." At his unimpressed look, she huffs. "Being an owl has its perks. Errol was kind enough to let me know, the dunderhead."

 _Errol? Ron's mad owl who crashed into his window many times in passing?_

For some reason, his brain takes a _long_ time commute that. "You guys can… _communicate_?"

C.C. doesn't look impressed with him either. "You snakes can communicate with each other?"

"I'm a _Parselmouth_ , not a snake."

"Same difference. And yes, we owls can speak to each other. Errol can be _such_ an adorable chap, and he's surprisingly cognizant towards the going-ons around him despite his poor motor reflexes."

He arches his eyebrows.

There's a crash downstairs from the kitchen.

C.C. stretches her legs before yanking off the blanket, yawning in annoyance.

"I suppose that's your lift to ol' Sirius' place."

He grabs his wand from the desk and smirks.

"And so it begins."

 **...**

 **A/N: Wooooo... so here's a crappy filler chapter for you guys. So sorry for the long wait and poor quality. Exams have hijacked my life this year and so has major writer's block. But I want to thank everyone who has faved, followed and reviewed this fic, because honestly, I wasn't expecting anyone to even look at it. You guys are the best!**

 **So yeah. Till next time!**


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